Moonlit Desire
by Samgirl16
Summary: Oneshot. After three years apart, Pocahontas and John Smith meet again by the river where they first met. Rated M for sex. Reviews greatly appreciated.


A/N: This is a one-shot, mainly just a P/JS love scene with somewhat of a story line behind it. Perhaps one day I will write a real Pocahontas fic, with chapters and such. But for now, I give you this simple work of fiction. Enjoy; reviews are very welcome. Constructive criticism will be appreciated and remembered in the future. Flames will be laughed at and disregarded.

Disclaimer: I do not own Pocahontas. I own the DVD, but not the concept or the characters. This fanfic is mine, but it would not exist without the movie itself, which belongs to Disney.

Moonlit Desire 

She waited for him. Here, under moonlight, by the softly flowing river that marked the place they had first met, she waited. Waited to hold him, kiss him, love him as she once had. She hoped he would be here soon. She hoped he would just be here.

It had been over a year since their last encounter. That had been in London, where they had both been attending a diplomat's ball. She had been with Rolfe and he had been with a lovely blonde woman with skin the color of peaches and cream. His eyes had swept the room, bored and full of a hidden, dull resentment at having to be here in the first place, when he noticed her standing beside Rolfe, while Rolfe himself engaged in a little polite banter with yet another dignified guest.

She turned her head ever so slightly, sensitive to the feeling of being watched and she had seen him then. Staring at her…quite possibly wanting her, the very same way she wanted him. Upon some excuse or another, she had slipped away from Rolfe and crept out onto the balcony. She waited until she heard his footsteps behind her and then discreetly closed the elegant French doors behind her. She also made sure the curtains on them were drawn. He spoke her name softly. She turned around and met the eyes of her one and only, John Smith.

He had aged considerably since she had last said goodbye to him nearly two years ago. His eyes, while still as blue and playful as ever, had acquired a slightly somber, sad look to them. There were little wrinkles around his eyes and mouth that hadn't been there before. But otherwise, he was still the same handsome English rogue he had always been. She was sure she was quite a sight to him as well. Her luxurious ebony tresses were piled and curled on top of her head. Her copper skin had been paled a few shades with powder. And her glorious figure was imprisoned in an assortment of hoops, skirts, and pinching corsets. She was the very antithesis of her Native American heritage just then. Even her mother's precious necklace had departed from her neck.

"Oh, Pocahontas", he whispered. "What have they done to you?"

"I've changed", she answered, so softly he almost didn't hear her. "They say I'm better this way."

His brow creased and his tone became one of anger. "You were perfect just the way you were. You were ten times more beautiful with your hair loose and your skin bare. Now you look just like any one of them."

She sighed. "Maybe. But I'm not them. I'm Pocahontas."

There was no more to be said, for just then he swept her into his arms and kissed her roughly. She moaned into his mouth. It had been a long time since she had been kissed like this. She had become so accustomed to Rolfe's tenderness and the barely there feeling of his lips against hers. This was nothing like that. Smith was nothing like Rolfe.

For that, she was glad.

His hands explored her body as much as her limiting clothing allowed them to. In turn, she let her hands run freely over his shoulders, and down his back, feeling the muscular strength there. His lips roamed from her mouth, down the side of her neck and to her collarbone, where he eagerly began to bite and suck. His right hand somehow managed to creep down her low-cut bodice and underneath her camisole, where it then began to massage the ample flesh of her breast.

Pocahontas moaned once more, rather loudly, and the sound of it brought her back to reality. Trembling, she broke away from him. With tears in her eyes, she rearranged her top and smoothed her gown, attempting to look presentable…and innocent.

"Pocahontas—"

"We shouldn't be doing this" she interrupted him. Her voice was sad, but somehow hard and determined at the same time. "It's wrong. We're wrong."

And with that said, she turned and went back to the party, leaving an unfulfilled and sadly confused Smith behind.

In the present time beside the water and under the willow tree, a woman three years older and very much wiser opened her eyes, shutting away the relived memory. Looking back, she could see and number her many mistakes. Her first mistake had been accepting Rolfe's proposal. Her second had been agreeing to live in London for a year. Fascinating as it was, it had never become her home and she had always remained a stranger in a strange land. Oh, how had she longed for her forefathers' land and her native people. As time had pressed on, she had become steadily unhappier. She had withdrawn herself and become sullen until even Rolfe, who was usually patient and understanding, had grown slightly irate with her. It was actually he who had suggested that she come back to Jamestown for a little furlough. He had declined coming himself, on the account of the many important meetings he as a diplomat had yet to attend in London.

What he didn't know was that she had no intention of returning. She also had no intention of marrying him in the spring, as they had originally planned.

It was the last day of September and fall would be a visitor soon. The night held a slight chill, but she embraced it. She was finally home.

She had of course been quite shocked to discover that John Smith was living in Jamestown. Surprisingly, she had not actually spoken to him in person yet. She had seen him around and a settler had pointed out his cabin to her, but they had not yet interacted personally. But last night, she had crept out of a hut in her village reserved especially for her and she had slunk silently into town, where she had slipped a note under John Smith's door. If he still loved her, he would be here at any moment.

Somewhere close behind her, a twig snapped. She turned quickly, coal-black hair flying out behind her, and she beheld him, her golden haired lover. The only man that could ever make her heart sing.

They stood like that for what seemed like forever, their eyes conveying so many profound messages to each other. His first thought was that she looked so much more natural out here, in the wild, her hair down and her body scantily clad in her original deerskin dress. Her first thought was that being away from London had done wonders for his appearance. Out here, under blue sky and among tall trees, in a land as fierce and untamed as he himself was, the fine lines and marks of aging on his face had seemed to visibly diminish. Here, he was forever young, as she herself was. Let the diplomats have London, she thought. All lovers need is green grass, endless sky, and the freedom to do as they please.

He took a step toward her. His breath caught as he spoke the only words spoken that whole night.

"Oh, darling. You're as lovely as ever."

He might have said more, but her lips descended on his in a kiss that was forceful and full of desire. It was so unlike her usual sweetness, but John welcomed it as a testimony to how much she had missed him. His hands were in her hair, stroking and tangling themselves deeply in the midnight locks. Once again, her hands caressed his shoulder blades and back, drawing his body closer to hers. Smith's hands moved from her hair and slid down her lithe, supple body. He groped her buttocks eagerly with both hands and lifted her from the ground that way. Her long, tanned legs wrapped around his waist, causing her warm center to be roughly pressed against his manhood. He continued to kiss her, but now began shifting his hips against hers in slow, rhythmic thrusts. The pressure it caused was intense and she sighed against his neck.

They continued these movements a few minutes more, until both could have cried out from the longing it built up in their bodies. Then, John slowly returned Pocahontas to the ground and began untying the laces of her dress. She began removing his shirt and in a matter of moments, both were naked and lying on the ground. John began kissing her neck as he had so many nights ago in London, but this time he was able to take it farther. He trailed wet kisses down past her collarbone, finally stopping at her breasts, where he then began to suck eagerly. Pocahontas bit down against the cry his loving administrations had aroused from her. Tenderly, she kissed the top if his head. In time, he moved further down, planting kisses on her stomach and upper thighs. "John", she sighed. He looked up, seeing the intense wanting on her face and decided it was time to give her what she really wanted. She opened her legs and he found his place between her. In one quick movement, he was inside her. There was brief pain, as she was still a virgin, but it subsided and in its place came a heated pleasure. He began his moving and her body responded with its own motions. What was at first slow and easy became fast and rigid quite quickly. Pocahontas' body filled with searing ecstasy and lighting seemed to strike within her center. Feeling her spasm around him, John let go and both were soon caught up in sweet waves of desire fulfilled. When the storm had passed, both lay entwined in the other's arms, fast asleep.

It was good to be home.


End file.
